


nothing on my tongue

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Marco is Jesus, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean wants to be with Mikasa, it’s just that he has the romantic potential of the gum stuck on his shoe. Marco is helping him, that’s all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Ran Over Oprah

.

 

_I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too._

.

Jean tries very hard to be polite and nice about this sort of thing, but the extent to which he succeeds is questionable.

Especially when his Mom starts walking up the stairs with pizza rolls, Marco no doubt in tow, calling for him to unlock the door.

“You need to go,” Jean hisses, ushering Mina towards the closet. Her mouth drops open angrily.

“Where _exactly_ will I go, genius? There’s no back door!”

“There’s a window,” he offers weakly, but Mina flips him off. “If you think I’m going to jump out of a three story building just to save your sorry hide, you’re grossly underestimating our relationship!”

Knuckles rap against the door, sharp and cracking. His mother calls out again, but Jean only mumbles out _five more minutes_ before the handle starts shaking.

“Jean?” It’s Marco this time, wonderful amazing _reliable_ Marco. Jean opens the door a crack, only letting Marco slip in before slamming the door in his Mom’s face. He apologizes, asking her to set the rolls on the table.

“It’s just guy stuff, Mrs. Kirschtein,” calls Marco, apology seeping through the door. Jean grins, he knows his Mom eats up all the sweet shit Marco makes up.

Once his mother has padded off downstairs, Marco turns away from the door and rubs his hands together.

“Hello, Mina,” he says, averting his eyes from her bare legs. Jean decides not to comment on the blush creeping up his best friend’s face. Staring intently at the ceiling, Marco starts devising a plan for Mina’s safe escape.

Five minutes into it, however, Jean feels an itch of irritation.

“Wait a minute,” he holds up a hand. “Why does Mina get to leave with _you_?”

“Because if I leave with _you_ , Jean, your Mom will suspect things,” Mina clings to Marco’s arm and smiles sweetly at him. “This sounds like a great plan, Freckles!”

Marco grins back, unlocking the door. He ushers for Jean to start phase one.

(Phase One is where Jean ‘trips’ conveniently over his feet in the basement and his Mom rushes to the basement to help him while Marco gets Mina out the door. All within ten minutes.)

“Ouch!” Jean grips his leg, opening the basement door wide and flicking on the lights. “I’m in a lot of pain, Mom. You should help me,”

No response. Huffing in frustration, Jean clears his throat again.

“Mom! I’m hurt!”

Jean’s voice is no match for the Oprah reruns. _Take a risk,_ Oprah exclaims, and Jean can already feel the tears welling up in his mother’s eyes. The audience applauds, Marco and Mina begin making their way downstairs, and everything will fall to absolute ruins if he doesn’t do something.

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks, and slams his fist into the plywood.

The answering howl ripped from his throat is enough to silence Oprah once and for all. Splinters stick out of his fingers, and blood drips onto the wooden steps.

It hurts like a bitch, but Jean catches Marco and Mina running out the door undetected, hears the click of the remote and his mother’s terrified exclamations of _Jean, are you okay?_ , so he smiles.

Jean has saved the day, even if he busted up his good hand while doing so. 

.

“Shadis is going to kill you,” Marco says, wrapping gauze around Jean’s knuckles. They’re sitting in Marco’s room, sunlight filtering in and casting glare over every single surface.

“I know,” he mutters, shivering at the thought of the nutcase. Shadis had only started to warm up to him, letting Jean not bench every game. Without his hand, Jean will have to give up the position to fucking Jaeger.

They sit silently for a while, sounds of gauze ripping and Marco’s patient breathing filling the room.

“You didn’t do this for Mina, did you Jean?”

Sometimes Marco does dumb shit like this, starts getting all _insightful_ about Jean’s mindset. Jean hates it because it scares him so much (or maybe he’s scared because he hates it). Jean feigns ignorance because he really can't handle whatever the fuck Marco is insinuating about Mina's feelings about him. 

“Do what?” Marco taps his bleeding hand and sighs.

 “Do you think she cares about you as much as you care about her?”

“Of course she does,” Jean looks at his friend. Marco looks away, suddenly shy. “Why? Did she say something?”

“No, Jean. Mina doesn’t need to say things for you to understand them. She just, well, she-”

Before Marco can finish, however, Jean’s mother walks in. She’s waiting to take Jean to the hospital in their car. The car is, sadly, the tiny ass Camry. Between Jean’s hockey gear and the passengers, Marco would have a better ride on the roof.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Kirschtein. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jean,”

“Yeah,” Jean watches his friend go. “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

.

The waiting sucks, and the waiting in the doctor’s office sucks, and having the nurse hold his hand in the stupidest way possible as his mother and Dr. Kwok talk about cast colours also sucks very much. Through the dirty window, Jean can see kids throwing powdery snow across the parking lot.

Out of spite, Jean asks for a purple cast. Surprisingly, the good doctor has nearly every shade of the rainbow, and the nurse pulls out the deepest, darkest colour she can find.

“How about this one?” she asks, comparing the purple looking one with the other purple looking one. Jean’s mother looks between them, furrows her brow worriedly.

“Wouldn’t you like another colour, Jean? Maybe blue or green?”

“No,” he says smugly. “Purple is my favourite colour,”

Purple makes Jean want to throw up but it is Mina’s favourite. Jean figures he can console her with it tomorrow.

But then Marco’s words come back full force, pull on his insides and leave him in ugly knots. Jean would deny he ever felt anxiety, but something about the way Mina couldn’t wait to leave him was nagging him.

Whatever. Jean scrapes at the frost gathering on the window. He would deal with everything tomorrow.

. 


	2. Part A:  Jean’s Personal Rainbow Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GTA 5 + Rainbow Road + Marco = Happy Jean

.

_Something outside the body exerts a pull that drags us like a match across sand._

.

School sometimes makes Jean want to die a thousand deaths, each more painful than the last. Hell, being eaten by, like, a giant or something would be better than sitting through another one of Mrs. Zoe’s fucked up Biology lessons.

“What do guys want to dissect today, hmm?”

Jean leans towards Marco. “I wouldn’t mind dissecting her,” he mutters, reveling in Marco’s answering snicker.

The entire class grumbles, except for Armin, who very softly mumbles that he wouldn’t mind exploring the inner cavity of a cow’s eye. Jean glares at him, wondering why Armin wasn’t sitting with his own friends at the back. When Jean glances back, however, fucking Jaeger is taking up the entire desk.

God, Jean _hates_ Biology.

Until the door opens and the black hair black eyes pale skin _Goddess_ walks through. Jean swears the entire room falls silent, hushing until every boy and girl have their eyes glued on this new girl. Even Mrs. Zoe looks awed.

However, Mrs. Zoe is the teacher, so after a few awkward attempts, she finally weasels a name out of the girl.

“I’m Mikasa Ackerman,” says Mikasa Ackerman. “I transferred here from Japan,”

“Mikasa?” It’s fucking Jaeger, jumping out of his seat and grabbing her hand. “I’m Eren!”

Jean watches the exchange with his mouth hanging open, watches Eren explain that Mikasa is going to live with him for the student exchange program. Mrs. Zoe buys it, and the two sit together in the back.

 “I can’t believe it,” Jean mutters. “Fucking Jaeger gets to _live_ with her?”

Marco raises a brow at him. “Don’t you have a girlfriend, Jean?”

 _Mina_. Shit, Jean forgot that he needed to talk to her. Worrying his lip, Jean turns to Marco.

“I think is Mina going to break up with me, Marco,”

To his surprise, Marco doesn’t look too concerned. Jean slowly feels yesterday’s events clicking into place. Nonetheless, Marco’s composure cracks under his glare.

“You knew?”

“Yeah. Mina told me when you were in the basement,” Before Jean can open his mouth, Marco silences him. “It’s not my place, Jean, to tell you these things,”

Jean’s chest constricts. He actually sort of really liked Mina, and now that their breakup is imminent, Jean feels like shit.

The shrill bell nearly busts his eardrums in its ministrations, so Jean grabs his books and runs to his locker. If Mina is going to break up with him, Jean is going to try his best to keep her from doing so.

At the last second, Jean decides to buy a bag of chips from the vending machine. If anything, Mina liked to share the pretzels with him.

Mina exits her class, and Jean catches up to her. Snow crunches beneath their feet, and Jean kicks away the clumps that stick to his shoe. A breathless _hey_ and then Jean directs them to a bench, taking Mina’s lunch and setting it down next to her.

The bag opens with an obnoxious sound, and Jean nearly spills the chips everywhere in his haste. Mina pulls out a pretzel, splits it in two, and they both munch awkwardly.

“So,” Mina draws out the word, twists it in the cold air. Jean watches her breath puff out and dissipate.

“So,” Jean answers, and shuffles closer. “Are we breaking up?”

Eloquence was never his strong suit.

Mina looks at him, part surprised and part sad, and covers his gauzed up hands with her gloved ones. She nods, swallows the pretzel piece, and looks away.

Jean has been expecting this since first period, but he still feels disappointment sinking in his gut. Out of his periphery Jean sees Marco leaning against the wall, watching.

“Can I know why?” he offers, lacing his fingers with Mina tighter still.

Mina’s face twists. “Jean,” she starts out, but her voice cracks. It’s unnerving to watch, Mina is not the sort of person to cry.

Jean squeezes her hand tighter. He racks his brain, thinking of everything he might have done wrong in their relationship. After a few seconds, Mina finds her voice.

“You said, after we got together, that you loved me Jean. You know that’s not true,”

“What? Of course it’s true!”

Mina is a lot like Marco, in that whole getting into Jean’s head shit. She takes his hand, death grips it and looks deep into his eyes. Jean thought it was hot when she did that, blue eyes and long lashes, but now the intensity of her gaze frightens him.

“And then,” she says, staring up at the grey sky. “You started saying it all the time, and I started saying it back, and it just felt like all we were doing was lying to each other,”

“Then I can stop! I won’t say it, if that’s what it takes,”

Mina shakes her head.

“You wouldn’t understand, Jean. I just can’t continue on like this. I think breaking up would be good for the both of us,”

Despite himself, Jean feels his eyes burn. He clears his throat, and tugs his hands away from Mina.

“See you around, Jean,”

Jean doesn’t want to see her for a very long time.

“See you, Mina,”

Jean watches her walk away, watches the snow swirl and catch on her hair, and then he turns to Marco.

“You were right,”

“Jean,” Marco starts, but Jean doesn’t feel like talking, so he nudges Marco onto the sidewalk. They walk in silence, and Jean stares at the frozen path and tries to clear his head.

.

It takes Jean a few weeks to get Mina out of his system, sitting in Marco’s house and eating away his ‘manpain’. Marco, thankfully, doesn’t bring her up, instead choosing to beat his ass at Mario Kart every fucking time.

“What the actual fuck, Marco,”

Marco can’t stop laughing, doubled over the couch. The console is still in his hand, and Luigi does a victory dance on the screen.

“You’re so bad at this, Jean, I just can’t help it,”

“Hey!” Jean protests, raising his left wrist. “I’m an injured man, Marco. It’s a _disability_ ,”

Marco shakes his head, lips pressed tight. “You were way worse before you broke your hand, Jean. Besides, since when were you a leftie?”

Jean scoffs, even though he can feel a smile tugging at his own lips. He reaches over Marco for the next disc, pulling out Grand Theft Auto 5.

“There’s no Rainbow Road in this one, right?”

Marco bursts out laughing again. Jean lets him have it, because Marco might have crazy good abilities in maneuvering a go-kart on a rainbow, but Jean kicks ass in GTA.

Fifty levels later, Jean notices the streetlights flickering on. Pausing the game, Jean pushes aside the curtains and looks around. The entire street is dark, save for when the streetlights reflect on the snow, and ice glimmers dangerously on the road.

He swears under his breath, knowing there is no way his shitty Camry could avoid skidding on that ice. Behind him, Marco is still trying to figure out how to move his vehicle forward on the fake road.

“Marco?”

Marco lets out a tiny growl, which is hilarious, and throws the console back on the couch.

“Yeah, Jean?”

“Could you drive me home?”

“Sure,” Marco smiles at him. “Don’t think _Cammy_ could handle another Jean vs. Black Ice Smack Down,”

“Hey Marco,” Jean calls, pulling on his parka. “Go fuck yourself,”

Marco just snickers again, tossing Jean his gloves. They have a long ride ahead of them.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing high school break ups is weird. 
> 
> Split into two parts for clarity.


	3. Part B: He's Slick (as ice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is one smooth motherfucker. When he tries.

.

  
_But I grow old and I forget your name._   
_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_   


.

The road is as frozen and hellish as it looked, and even in Marco’s capable hands the vehicle skids. Jean won’t admit it, but it scares the hell out of him when the massive hunk of metal pitches forwards, and the rubber tires lock and slide dangerously into traffic.

Marco is just as shaken, knuckles turning white on the wheel. Fortunately, he knows to steer into the skid, so they’re facing opposing traffic for only ten terrifying seconds before Marco has righted them again.

“Shit,” Jean says, releasing a breath he didn’t he was holding.

Marco echoes him, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He flicks on the blinker, but then Jean catches a lone figure standing outside the recreation centre.

A brutal wind unwinds the red scarf, and Jean watches the person chase after it.

“Hey,” It feels like all the air has been knocked out of Jean’s lungs. “That’s-”

“Mikasa!” finishes Marco, pumping the brakes. The car almost skids again, and Jean raises a brow at his friend’s hastiness.

“This is your chance, Jean. I know you like her,”

“Maybe I do, Marco. But why are you so eager about this?”

“Well, Jean, I think shamelessly pursuing another girl will make you feel better about yourself on the whole. Also, you ate all my Wagon Wheels, which is unforgivable,”

“I thought you didn’t like Wagon Wheels!”

Marco turns to look at him, and even with the street lights casting thick shadows over his face, Jean can see the incredulity in his gaze.

“Everyone likes Wagon Wheels, Jean. I was just trying to be polite,”

Marco unlocks the door, handing Jean his gloves. “Go, Jean, and offer her a ride back. Be polite,”

 _Be polite._ More like don’t appear like a complete creep when offering a car ride to a girl. Either this was going to go extremely well, or Jean would have his face printed in the underage offenders section of the news.

Jean feels something press against his leg. Bending down, he sees the scarf Mikasa was chasing wrapped around his ankle. Mikasa comes chasing after it, and Jean holds it out between them like a peace offering.

If Mikasa was beautiful in the harshly lit classroom, she is absolutely _stunning_ in the evening light. Whatever meagre reflection the lamps provide the snow are spent casting thick shadows across her nose and chin.

Jean feels the words clog up in his throat, but he clears them. _This is different from Mina_ , he reminds himself. _This is your first impression._

Mikasa shivers when a gale of wind whips up flakes of snow, swirling them higher into the air. She checks her phone, and Jean can see the translator app open when she texts.

“Are you waiting for Jaeger?” he asks, and Mikasa looks up from her phone, startled.

“Yes,” she says, voice strong. She isn’t shy, obviously, which is so very awesome.

“How long have you been waiting?”

Mikasa shrugs. “Not that long. Eren will come soon,” She wraps the offered scarf tightly around her neck.

Jean can’t help but notice the way her words twist and fall with her accent. It’s not weird or anything, but Jean gets the impression she isn’t completely comfortable with the way she sounds.

“Well,” Jean scratches the back of his head. “I could drive you home, if you wanted,”

Mikasa shakes her head so hard Jean feels himself wincing.

“Eren will come soon,” she echoes. Her cheeks are feverish red, and her fingers are sans gloves or anything. Jean bites his lip in frustration.

“Look,” he starts out, again. “Mikasa, I’m not trying to pull the moves on you or anything,”

Which is, well, okay, sort of a lie.

“I’m just worried that you might freeze to death before Jaeger arrives. You live with him, right? I live pretty close to the guy too. I only want to help you,”

On cue, Marco rolls up in Jean’s harmless Camry, light green and chipped. He lowers the window, which is dumb as fuck, and snow collapses into the passenger seat. Mikasa still looks unsure, so Marco tugs off his hat and casts a smile towards her.

Jean knows that smile, the one where Marco’s face scrunches up and his teeth are in a perfect row, and the freckles gather near his nose like constellations. It’s helped Jean get out of several sticky situations, so Jean sighs in relief. No one could say no to that smile.  

“Come on, Mikasa,” Marco waves at her. His cheerful voice carries over the parking lot. “We’ll take you home,”

Mikasa looks at both of them, checks her phone and her watch, cranes her neck for Jaeger, and then finally relents. She’s obviously going for the passenger seat, but thankfully Marco plops down Jean’s nasty smelling hockey equipment on it.

This forces Mikasa to sit next to Jean in the back, for which Jean sends out a quick prayer to God (or Marco, whatever).

Marco guns the engine, turns up the radio, and sticks his hand out the window like he doesn’t have any fear whatsoever of frostbite. Christmas songs float in and out of the car, and the occasional snowflake lands on the seat between Jean and Mikasa.

The ride is quiet, at times, with Mikasa’s refusal to hold a conversation longer than two minutes. Jean tries everything, from asking about Japan to what exactly she was doing in front of the rec centre. The conversation, however, seems to always direct back to Eren Jaeger.

“Mikasa, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is so special about Jaeger? I mean, you live with the guy. Do you even know him?”

Mikasa looks him dead in the eye. “Eren saved my life, Jean. I owe everything to him,”

 _Oh._ Jean catches Marco’s eye in the rear view mirror, tries to hide his discomfort. He doesn’t exactly get how Jaeger, of all people, could save a life, but the fierce devotion in Mikasa’s eyes tells him it’s no joke.

Jean nods off into silence, watches the houses go by. The Christmas songs make his eyelids droop, but Jean is not the sort of guy to fall asleep like a five year old, especially not with a potential girlfriend in the car.

Marco pulls up near the sidewalk, parking between two houses. The shrubs are neatly trimmed, and lights adorn the roofs and porches. Jean swears he can hear sleigh bells, or some shit like that.

“I’m going to need your help on this one,” Marco says, rolling down both windows. “Which house is yours?”

Mikasa doesn’t have a chance to answer, though, because Eren bolts out of the house on the left, flapping his arms wildly.

“Mikasa!” he yells, placing his grimy hands all over Jean’s Camry. “W-what?”

Jean leans over, sticking his face out the window. It’s probably stupid to provoke Jaeger when Mikasa is near, but Jean can’t resist smirking at him.

“Hey, Eren,” he drawls. “We were just dropping off Mikasa. Something you obviously forgot about,”

Eren flushes, looking between Mikasa and Jean with his mouth hanging open.

“I didn’t forget, Mikasa! I was coming to get you, I just...,” Eren trails off with his lame excuse, and Jean feels the smirk take up like half his face.

“Whatever,” Jean shrugs. Marco unlocks the door, and Jean helps Mikasa out the car, even though her boots have spikes on the bottom. Marco trails behind, head bent over his phone. Eren watches the exchange angrily, but Jean is too focused on the feel of Mikasa’s hand in his.

Jean opens the door for her, and Mikasa enters, stomping off the snow on her boots. Jean turns to look at Eren, but he’s at the car, talking animatedly with Marco. It’s weird, Marco and Eren aren’t the best of friends, but that’s probably because of Jean’s doing.

Finally, the two finish talking, and Eren ‘accidentally’ shoves his shoulder in the process. Jean turns to leave, but a hand on his wrist stops him.

Mikasa’s hand. Mikasa is willingly touching Jean, _wow._

“Jean,” Her mouth tugs in the slightest approximation of a smile. “Thank you,”

Jean does this weird salute thing, but it works, since Mikasa salutes back.

“Anytime, Mikasa,”

Jaeger scowls, and slams the door shut. Jean walks towards Marco, who pockets his phone, grinning widely.

“Dude,” Jean leans in close. “She touched my hand,”

Marco laughs, throws his head back and slings an arm around Jean’s shoulder. Jean would deny he ever ‘snuggled’, but he does press closer, and the warmth of Marco’s body matches the warmth in Jean’s stomach.

“I’m proud of you, Casanova,”

Jean is proud, too.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write. I mean, it really is a struggle to get a girl inside a car with you without seeming like a total creep! 
> 
> Comments and criticism are always welcome!


	4. You'll Woo the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean plans, gets shot down, and then learns about romance from Marco, 21st century style.

.

_If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire_

.

Jean has a plan. More like a proto-plan, with details that need to be ironed out, but that’s just semantics. He’s got a proto-plan to figure out.

With Marco.

Jean gives himself a smile of approval in the mirror, then heads out straight for Marco’s. It’s not like his Mom will notice, what with all the bills she’s currently freaking out about. Jean figures she needs some space anyway.

He considers popping his collar halfway, but then an inner voice that sounds a lot like Marco sighs and whispers _no_ very softly. Whatever.

Jean crosses the street (jaywalks actually, but who’s looking) and doesn’t even have the chance to ring the doorbell before Mrs. Bodt opens the door. She smiles, welcoming Jean with the smell of chalupas and that ‘Marco’s Mom’ smell Jean can’t even attempt to explain. Sadly, the warmth of the Bodt home slowly dissipates when Marco’s little sister peeks out of her mother’s dress.

“Hey Marisol,” Jean smiles (with his mouth, never his eyes).

Marisol scowls at him, digging her hands further into the pockets of her ratty denim jacket.

“‘Sup, freeloader,”

Mrs. Bodt looks scandalized, eyes widening at her daughter. It’s no use though, Marisol walks up the stairs with a smug smile on her face before Mrs. Bodt can get to her.

“Jean, sweetheart-”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Bodt. Is Marco here?”

She nods, leading Jean to their living room. Jean makes himself comfortable on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone until the tell-tale banter between the two Bodt’s begins.

“Marisol, would you just tell me who’s here?”

“SJP with the shitty dye job,”

“Oh,” Jean hears, not a single beat missed. “Must be Jean,”

 _Ouch._  Jean feels his blood boil at the comment, although he’s secretly impressed that Marisol keeps the insults fresh each time she sees him.

After a few minutes, and a round of neighing that has Jean glaring so hard his eyeballs might pop off, Marco bounds down the stairs. Jean unfolds his legs to greet him, but then backs away. Marco shakes like a wet dog, towel bound loosely around his hips. His hair is akin to a drowned rat, and Jean thinks the guy has his own personal puddle.

“Whoa there, Katara,”

Marco grins sheepishly. “Sorry Jean, I had swim practice. There was no way I was sharing a shower with the Trost kids,”

Jean gets it. The kids from Trost are crazy competitive, beating out every other school in the district in, like, every single sport. What’s worse, they treat intimidation as a competitive sport, effectively scaring the shit out of anyone who might be a threat.

“Did they threaten you or anything?”

 “Well,” Marco bites his lip. “They didn’t _say_ anything, but Reiner and Annie kept glaring at me like...”

“Like?” Jean prompts.

“It’s nothing,” Marco brushes it off, but Jean takes note of the furrow between his eyes that doesn’t quite erase itself for a long time.

So yeah, maybe it’s kind of stupid, but Jean isn’t a total hardass when it comes to his friends. Shrugging off his leather jacket, Jean wraps his arms around his best friend.

“W-what?” Marco’s surprised breath puffs out on Jean’s neck.

“You looked like you needed a hug, buddy,”

The droplets of water are now seeping into his shirt, but Jean holds on for a few more seconds. Marco’s body stiffens, then relaxes, and Jean feels himself squished back.

“Thanks, Jean,” Marco looks him in the eye, which really means _I needed that_ and _I’m not so scared anymore_.

Jean wrings the water out of his ruined shirt, pretends to be mad about, and flips him off. Translation: _No problem_ and also _No one needs to know about this_.

“Anyway,” Marco finally finds a shirt, pulling it over his head. “We’re here to talk about Mikasa, right?”

“We’re not talking _about_ her, we’re just making a plan,”

Marco raises a brow, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “You’re sure, Jean? Don’t want to talk about her hair or her eyes or-”

“Shut it, Marco,” Jean fights the blush (shit he’s blushing) crawling up his neck. “I have a proto-plan,”

Jean pulls out the crumpled piece of loose-leaf from his pocket. On it are the ideas Jean scribbled during the weekend. Marco straightens the paper, smoothing over the numerous cracks, and reads all of them with an admirably straight face.

“Jean,” he finishes with a grin. “You’re such a sap,”

Jean punches him in the shoulder half-heartedly, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Just tell me which ones you think are good,”

Marco hums as he looks through them, pulling a pencil out of his pocket and circling the ones he likes. Jean decides not to comment on the absolute nerdiness of the action, instead focusing on how nearly every idea of his is being shot down.

“Dude!”

Marco shakes his head. “Jean, these ideas are ridiculous. What century are you stuck in?”

“The fuck do you mean by that? I thought girls liked the romantic shit,”

“Girls like being treated like girls, not prizes. Half of these suggestions just scream ‘have sex with me or else’,”

Jean lowers his head. While getting into Mikasa’s pants wasn’t his immediate objective, he can’t lie and say he didn’t think about it. But said aloud, his ideas leave a nasty aftertaste in his mouth.

“Fine,” Jean relents. Marco knows a whole lot more about girls, even though his only girlfriend was the seventh grade Mina Carolina.

Marco crumples the paper then chucks it, and it sails in a perfect arc before landing in the trash can. Jean whoops, and Marco shrugs off the praise, instead grabbing a sticky note to scrawl on. He draws a circle in the middle, writing Jean and Mikasa’s names on it. From that, Marco creates separate columns for ‘Common Interests’ and ‘Total Time Spent Together’.

“Now,” Marco looks Jean straight in the eye. “You’re going to spend time with Mikasa, and figure out how many things you guys have in common. If she likes you, she warms up to you, we can start giving her romantic little gifts or whatever. If she pushes you away, Jean, promise me you won’t creepily follow her until she caves,”

“It’s not creepy, it’s _persistent_ ,”

Marco gives him a look that could reinvent the ‘Bitch Please’ meme to a whole ‘nother level. Jean gives in, promising not to.

“I know Mikasa is kind of shelled in-”

“Not to mention glued to Jaeger,” Jean interjects.

“Yes, she’s close to Jaeger and possibly Armin. It’s going to be difficult to get through to her, Jean, but I think you could do it,”

“Yeah?”

“How much do you like her, Jean?”

“Like,” Jean spreads his arms wide. “A metric shit ton, I reckon,”

Marco grins, and something wavers in his gaze like a candle hit by a strong wind, but then it’s gone, his smile is back full force and the freckles are bunching up again so Jean knows it’s all good.

“Well, I think you could get her to open up, Jean. You get people who are 'withdrawn', since you’d been like that for the most part of eighth grade,” Marco has a devious smile tugging on his lips.

“You did not just-”

“Oh,” Marco smirks. “But I did,”

Jean has to wipe that stupid smile off his friend’s face, so without warning he pounces, grabbing a pillow from the sofa and hitting Marco square in the face with it. At Marco’s indignant shriek, Jean scrambles up, intending to run.

A firm grip on his ankle stops him, however, and Jean feels himself dragged into Marco’s hold. Jean is ambushed repeatedly with a pillow, blows to the head and stomach.

With a final burst of energy, Jean scrambles up. He tightens his hold on the pillow, swings back and hits Marco hard on the stomach. Marco goes down, thumping heavily on the carpet. Jean hears a groan, then Marco lifts the off-white pillow case in surrender.

Jean grins, chest heaving and out of breath. No one mentions his eighth grade emo phase without suffering from the consequences.

.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, I did not just steal a quote from iCarly, pfft. I’m not five.  
> (ha I totally did I’m not even sorry does anyone even get it or am I getting too old for the internet??)
> 
> Comments and criticisms are always welcome!


	5. Good Old Hockey Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Game night.

.

_Knowledge is not for knowing: knowledge is for cutting._

. 

It’s been a few solid days before Jean sees Mikasa again, but when he does, it’s game night. His hand is pretty much all but healed, and it only took a few pathetic attempts at groveling to convince Shadis into letting Jean into the starting lineup.

She sits next to Armin, red scarf wound tight, but her hand lifts in a light wave when she sees him.  Jean waves back, nearly braining Jaeger with his hockey stick. Thankfully, Jaeger is too busy trying to glare the other team to death that he doesn’t notice.

Marco is there too, sharing his popcorn with the two of them. He’s the only idiot who brings popcorn to a hockey game, but if it’s entertainment he wants, Jean likes to think Jaeger’s shift would cover it.

The rink is smooth, still glistening from the Zamboni, and Jean skates around experimentally. The ice shaves neatly, and hops over the pile he just made.

“This isn’t figure skating, Kirschtein,” Snickers come from somewhere behind his left, and Jean lifts his helmet to see Reiner, all six feet of him.

Jean would like to reply, but then Shadis calls them all in, so he only flips Reiner off before skating into the huddle.

“Now look here,” Shadis starts, circles under his eyes even more pronounced. “All of you maggots are supposed to be top of the line. But if anyone of you pissbabies tries to lose, I will personally shove a hockey stick up your ass. Is that clear?”

Everyone nods. The Titans from Trost are a formidable team, but with recognizable traits everyone has taken notes on.

Then the intensity is broken when someone murmurs, “Didn’t know Shadis was into anal,” and the entire team snickers the second Shadis’ back is to them. Jean bites his lip, and focuses on the play.

“Jaeger, you and Kristen will be playing centers. Flip a coin or something to see who goes first,”

“It’s Kirschtein,” Jean calls out, but Shadis climbs into the penalty box, officially not giving a fuck.

Eren skates up next to him, magically procuring a coin from somewhere in the depths of his equipment.

“Do you just carry that around?”

Eren ignores him, instead gruffly asking for his pick.

“Tails,” says Jean, and the coin flips high into the air. Jean prays, and when the coin lands and flips, Eren frowns widely.

“You’re first,” he grumbles, and skates to the sidelines.

The referee blows his whistle, and Jean skates into position. The other team’s center is a tall, nervous looking guy who seems to be sweating on the ice. Which is gross, but Jean uses the rhythmic tap of the moisture to focus.

Three things about the centre Jean picks up on. His hands shake from the nervousness, and he glances back once, in the defense’s position. If they have some ploy planned out, Jean can’t see it, so he figures the sweaty centre knows someone in defense.

Also, he can’t deke for his life. The guy’s shoulders are hunched, and he’s got a death grip on the hockey stick. So either he is relying on the wings to help him, or scoring isn’t his actual plan.

Jean realizes this too late, when he has effectively handled the puck away from the center. The right wing surges up next to him, so he feints a slapshot and passes. What Jean doesn’t expect, however, is the sick crunch of broken bones, and Reiner bodychecking the right wing into the sideboards.

“Shit,” Jean breathes through his mouthpiece. Their right wing is fast and skilled at scoring, but not minutely prepared for the two hundred pounds of an angry Reiner. He crumples quick, dragging against the side, and Jean can see blood spraying out his helmet.

The check was way too aggressive, but the referee just doles out a two minute penalty. Jean and a few other guys skate over to their right wing, helping him onto the stretcher.

Shadis calls them in, glaring at the other team’s captain before looking at them.

“That was violent, but Wagner will be okay. The real problem is how to get past the defense kid, number two,”

“He’s going to weaken the team, Coach, by braining anyone who comes close enough to the goal,”

Shadis looks down at Jean, eyebrows raised imposingly. It’s not often defensive players use brute force to block shots, even when there is a quicker, lighter second defensive player. Jean has seen the second defensive player, and he looked asleep for most of the play.

“Is he fast?” pipes up Eren. Jean can see the cogs turning in his head.

“Faster than you, Jaeger,” Jean sneers, but he knows a guy the size of Reiner couldn’t possibly keep up the speed. The only person persistent enough (or stupid enough, it was interchangeable) to wear out Reiner had to be Jaeger.

“Coach,” Jean raises a hand. He knows his ego will hate it, but Jean decides winning as a team is way more important than his personal pride. “I think Jaeger could skate long enough to wear him out, and then I can sub in and take a few shots,”

Jean sees the light spark in Jaeger’s eyes. His suggestion has the whole team spinning, and he knows Jaeger would do anything to beat the Titans. Shadis just wants to win, and everyone else on the team is tired of being in second place.

Shadis nods once, and sends Jaeger out to the rink. _Hook, line and sinker_ , thinks Jean, and settles on the hard bench.

Jaeger does exactly what Jean said, and after only two plays Jean sees Reiner bend over to catch his breath. Shadis subs Jean in, and with glee he hops onto the rink.

The referee blows the shrill whistle, and Jean starts the game, easily handling the stick from the same sweaty centre. The wings are fast, but Jean is faster, and he literally skates circles around Reiner and the other defense. The goalie gears into position, Jean dekes a pass to his own left wing, then slapshots the puck into the goal.

The crowd cheers, the referee blows the whistle, and even Jaeger comes into the team hug.

“That was a good idea, Kristen,” Shadis is smiling, even though it does nothing to improve his looks. Jean doesn’t even bother correcting him.

.

The rest of the game passes like that, and with Reiner tuckered out, even Jaeger scores a couple of goals. The Titans lose, and Jean has to work very hard not to jump into the air on the ice.

Jean sees Mikasa near Eren, hugging him briefly. It’s more than a little upsetting, but Jean shrugs it off, thinking Marco might’ve been right about the whole ‘don’t be creepy’ thing. He tugs off his helmet, shoots off a quick text to Marco to meet him near the south entrance, and walks towards the change room.

A hand on his elbow stops him, however, and Jean sees Mikasa and Armin standing next to him.

“The plan to tire out Reiner was very smart, Jean,” Mikasa is smiling widely, and Jean’s stomach flips.

“Yeah,” Armin adds. “Even I couldn’t catch it until Eren told me after the game,”

Eren stands behind his friends, looking Jean in the eyes and smiling once. Jean nods back, and it’s like they’ve made some weird kind of truce in the span of that glance.

“Thanks,” Jean can’t help but grin back at the two of them. “I thought of it last minute, you know,”

A hand cuffs him hard behind the neck, and it’s Eren, shoving past Jean to the change room.

“Don’t get cocky, Kristen,”

“It’s Kirschtein, asshole,”

Eren flips him off, and normally Jean would go after him and maybe knock his head against the wall, but he’s got The Mikasa Ackerman in front of him. When he turns to her, the situation gets a little awkward, as they both laugh at something on Armin’s phone.

“I’m glad you guys could come to the game,” Jean finally says.

Mikasa startles, but then grins at him, again.

“I’m glad we did,” she says, and Armin pockets his phone.

Jean smiles so hard his face hurts, but he’d do anything to make Mikasa look at him that way a bit longer.  When they both leave, Jean walks into the locker room, feeling lighter than air.

The room is basically empty, only their goalie Nick still struggling with his shin guards. Wordlessly, Jean helps him tug the pads off, and pinches his nose when the rank stench of sweat fills the room.

“Thanks, Jean,” Nick pats him on the shoulder, hard. “That was a great play,”

“No problem,” Jean replies, and folds the last of his clothes into the duffel bag. Swinging it over his shoulder, Jean heads for the south entrance, intending to meet Marco.

The air is frozen as always, and the wind bites at his cheeks and neck. Jean looks around, trying to adjust his eyes to the dim glow of the street lamps.

Jean finds Marco on the bench outside, shivering in his ratty sweater. Marco seems to have a personal vendetta against winter coats, and instead risks hypothermia every time he goes outside.

“Hey, Marco,”

Marco waves to him, and Jean sees he already has two cups of hot chocolate in his hands. Marco hands one to him, and Jean presses the cup close to his face.

“Thanks, man,”

Marco smiles, taking a sip from his own cup. They walk in the direction of Jean’s car, only to be stopped by a hulking figure in the dark. It’s Reiner, jacket stretching tight over his large shoulders. A tiny blonde girl follows him, and the sweaty centre Jean recognizes from the game is close behind.

“Ignore them,” Jean mutters to Marco, noting how his friend’s shoulders tense up.

“Kristen!” Reiner calls out, grabbing Jean roughly by the arm. “Oh, and it’s Sharkboy,” Marco is easily caught by his other hand.

“What do you want, Reiner?”

Reiner looks down at him, hands still fisted in the fabric of Jean’s shirt. His hair is almost white in the darkness, and Jean can barely see the iris in his deep set eyes.

“You fucking tricked me, didn’t you? Sending Jaeger to tire me out?”

Jean gulps. “Kind of sad that it worked, isn’t it?” He tries making it sound venomous, but Jean’s voice shakes and he sounds weak instead.

Reiner shakes the both of them, hard. “You’re going to lose next time, Kristen,”

He turns to look at Marco. “And you,” he growls. “You better watch your mouth,”

Headlights flood the scene, and Reiner turns to see a car preparing to turn into the parking lot.

“That’s Coach Shadis,” hisses the blonde girl. Reiner panics, and Jean is promptly thrown on the ground next to Marco.

The three of them bolt, and Jean watches their figures recede into the dark. Shadis honks his horn at them, and Marco scrambles to his feet, pulling Jean up with him.

“Those guys are crazy,” Marco shakes his head. Jean nods in agreement, before something strikes him.

“Wait, Reiner told you to watch your mouth. Why is that?”

“I told him he sunk faster than an anvil in the water during swim practice,”

Jean’s eyes widen. He finds it hard to believe _Marco_ , of all people, could say something like that.

“Dude,” Jean holds up his hand for a high five. “That’s awesome,”

Marco smacks their palms together. “The guy can’t swim for his life, Jean. What else was I supposed to say?”

Jean grins, but looks down at their discarded cups of hot chocolate with dismay.  During the struggle, Reiner knocked them over, and now dark chocolate-y goodness is seeping into the frozen road.

“I’m going to buy you another cup just for showing up Reiner,” Jean grins, and starts walking towards the nearest coffee shop.

“I’ll buy you one for the exact same reason,” Marco grins. “It was a smart move, coming from you,”

“What do you mean, ‘coming from you’? You saying I don’t have good ideas?”

“I’m saying you don’t have them _often_ ,”

Jean chuckles, but not before thoroughly punching his friend in the shoulder. Marco can’t get away with being a snarky piece of shit all the time, right?

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched AOT Abridged on YouTube and I just can’t stop. I want to get 'harmonize with me, maggot' tattooed somewhere. Also, I spelled Coach Shadis as Couch Shadis like five times, which made me laugh like an idiot. 
> 
> I was obsessed with the Stanley Cup finals a few years ago, so some of my crazy spilled onto this chapter. Sorry. 
> 
> PSA: Midterms are coming up, so I’m not sure when I can update next. I tried to pack in a lot of ‘action’ in this chapter, just to get the ball rolling. 
> 
> Comments and criticism are always welcome!


	6. Cirque d'Hiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens and Mikasa says yes.

.

_But I could feel the meltdown in my fingers like soft beeswax, clasping each other._

.

 Jean steps up, falters, and then wishes he wasn’t such a piss baby. Mikasa is gorgeous, yes, but she is still a girl with two eyes and a brain and a heart, and she’s picked her nose at least once, right?

God, Jean never realized how shitty things became when you fell for people way up on the pedestal of awesomeness. He’s been practicing in front of the mirror for at least an hour, and it still looks like there are actual ants in his pants.

“Fuck,” he runs a hand through his hair. Other people start filing into the washroom, buzzing around and pissing and all that.

“Hey,” says a short guy. “You done?” He gestures to the small space cramped between two sinks.

Jean nods, then casts a last glance into the mirror before leaving. The soap leaves a strange, septic scent on his fingers. Figures, he thinks. The school can’t afford real soap, so they fill up with foamy hand sanitizers with hopes of fooling the general population.

As Jean exits, he sees Mikasa and Eren hovering near the water fountain. Eren takes a large, nasty slurp of water, and Mikasa visibly backs away from the droplets he swings around. Jean recoils, wondering how the hell she even puts up with this guy. He has no time to ponder the thought any further, as the warning bell rings and people flood the halls in giant ebbs and flows.

“Mikasa!” Jean calls, threading through the crowd of students. He sees Eren raise an eyebrow, but Jean shrugs off the twist in his stomach. “Do you have a minute?”

She turns at the clock, mouth bowing down.

“What is it, Jean?” School books balance precariously in her arms.

“I was wondering if you’d like to come to Marco’s swim competition with me. I mean, I have two tickets, and normally I’d invite Marco but he’s in the pool so it would be kind of weird, and-”

She looks to Eren. Eren shrugs in half-hearted nonchalance, like Jean’s presence could be a threat he isn’t sure of. It’s annoying how he seems to dictate Mikasa’s every move.

“Yes, Jean,”

“Yes? Yes. Alright, great. I’ll see you, then,”

Mikasa smiles, and Eren smiles too, although it looks more like a grimace. A tiny twist of happiness spirals up into his chest, filling it with elated oxygen. Jean enters his class, wondering how in hell Mikasa said yes so easily.

It occurs to him that perhaps Mikasa might genuinely like Jean for who he is. Not that Jean is unlikable, per se, but girls have never come to him easy. It takes a certain amount of effort into getting a girl, and the entire affair with Mikasa has been strangely breezy.

Jean passes the entire class this way, chewing on his pencil until the vile taste of lead fills his tongue. Grimacing, Jean attempts to spit away as much of the darkened eraser he can.

Lunch saves him from further toil, sliding next to Marco and his brown bag lunch. The heady scent of melted cheese and ground chicken waft into his nose, and Jean feels his mouth water.

“What you got there?” He leans over Marco, eyes tracking the beautiful meal.

Marco curves a protective hand over his lunch. “Chalupas,” he says, with a hint of suspicion.

Jean frowns at his lifeless sandwich. The ranch soaks into the bread, making it sag under the pressure of thin processed cheese slices and pale meat. A packet of chips crinkles sadly next to it.

Chips don’t crinkle with emotion, and objectively Jean knows that. But the way they sat next to his mother on her bench in the morning, teetering near the stack of taxes and bills unpaid, makes something stupid sting in his eyes.

“Your mom is trying her best, Jean,” Marco slides a warm palm up and down his back. Jean doesn’t even attempt to explain how Marco manages to read _that_ from a shitty lunch, but Jean appreciates the gesture. He even manages to sneak in a few swipes of the tortilla chips on the side.

About twenty minutes into their break, Jean sees Marco waving at the lunch lady across the room. When he actually squints, Jean sees it’s actually Eren, waving back and making his way through the crowd towards the two of them.  

“What the fuck?”

“Relax, Jean. It’s only Eren,” Eren who’s followed by Mikasa and Armin, and whose face is almost entirely consumed by a shit eating grin.

“Hey Marco!” Eren places his tray next to Jean’s knee, risking sauce to clothing accidents, then fist bumps Marco.

“ _What the fuck_?” Jean echoes, but Marco only sends him a pleading half-smile before looking back at Eren. Which is wrong on so many levels, as one’s best friend should not be chummy with one’s mortal enemy.

Mikasa smiles at Jean, and he thinks he will never get used to that, but he manages to overcome his minor (major) heart palpitations to smile back. Armin sends him an awkward smile, but Jean figures if all of them are going to stay here for a while, any lingering feelings of resentment should probably disappear, like, right now.

“Is there something going on right now, or should I just leave?”

Eren’s eyes widen in surprise, and places a hand on Marco’s shoulder. “You haven’t told Jean yet?”

“Haven’t told Jean what?” Jean curses his stupid use of third person, but turns Marco back to him with a pull on his arm. “What haven’t you told me?”

Marco turns red, which is ridiculous, but Jean knows his friend will always blush in circumstances that don’t require it.

“I- well, Jean, you had the game to worry about and, um, other things,” Marco inconspicuously jerks his head towards Mikasa.

“It’s about the Titans, three in particular,” Armin pipes up. “Specifically, Reiner, Berthold and Annie,”

“Wait,” Jean thinks of the hulking defense and the centre. “The hockey players?”

“And the swimmers, and the football champions, and the rulers of basically any other sport you can think of,”

“Okay,” Jean looks at the group. “I’m not following,”

“These Titans use intimidation to bring down their competition, and this year they have their eyes on the Sina scholarship. If we can find a way to show that they aren’t deserving, we’re shoo-ins,”

Jean nods. He knows the Sina scholarship is the best one out there, but unfortunately is awarded to entire schools, not students. For every year for ten years, the Titans have won the scholarship.

“Are you telling me you guys have dirt on the Titans?”

Eren grins, and there is something terrifying in the glint of his eye.

“We will,” he promises. “But first, we have to catch them red-handed,”

Armin nods, picking up from Eren’s weirdly ominous promise. “Some of us will be bait, and others will bring the required authority in just when the Titans are going to do something incriminating,”

“Bait?” The idea of purposefully crossing paths with the Titans sends a pang of uneasiness in Jean’s stomach.

“Marco and me will be bait,” Eren exclaims, grinning ( _again_ , seriously what the hell?) at Marco.

“It’s Marco and I,” Jean mutters his breath. The guy’s grammar is deplorable.

Eren brightens. “You can do it too, Jean,”

Jean is caught between slapping him or just walking away completely. However, he catches the slight upturn of Marco’s mouth, so he rests assured that Eren’s idiocy is a universal fact.

“One more thing,” Armin looks all of them straight in the eye. “Since it’s these three we’re focusing on, we’re going to give them a specific name,”

“What?”

Eren looks him straight in the eye.

“The Aberrants,”

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms are finally over, thank god. I'm terribly sorry about the wait, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!


End file.
